


Draughtsmanship

by Lexigent



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drawing, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 10:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20387938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexigent/pseuds/Lexigent
Summary: Written for the twitter GO exchange for @bschillace for the prompt:Aziraphale reads all the time, but hasn't actually tried to *write* anything original. Now he's discovered that Crowley keeps a notebook of various essays and sketches. It's time he picks up a pen to try.I hope you enjoy it!





	Draughtsmanship

The first time Aziraphale noticed the journal, it was in Crowley's flat. He'd thought it a strange object - a heavy, leafed-through, leather bound thing that sat oddly among the sparse furnishings and otherwise pristine, brand-new technological devices like Crowley's iPhone and stereo. But then, they had been concerned with other things that night, so he forgot about the journal entirely for a while.

The next time it turned up, it was in his bookshop. Neither of them quite klnew what to do with themselves, or indeed each other, now that they had the rest of eternity to choose what to do, free from job assignments from either of their superiors and free from the threat of punishment, should their friendship be discovered.

So, slowly, over a period of months, plants had made their way into the bookshop. Small plants that didn't need much watering placed in the light of the shop window. A yellow rose that miraculously survived no matter how long Aziraphale forgot to water it in the back room.

In return, books had been added to Crowley's shelves. Well, to Crowley's table and windowsill, to be precise. Crowley professed not to read, but Aziraphale had found out that he had an electronic reading device. He hadn't managed to guess the password, so he wasn't too sure what was on it though.

In any case, he was now in the back room of his bookshop and the journal was in front of him. He didn't know when Crowley had left it. But it was, technically, a book, and an old and rare one, and so it fell within the purview of his interests.

He made a cup of tea and settled in his chair before he opened it. He smiled to himself at the sight of Crowley's handwriting - the elegant letters were unmistakable. He leafed through the journal until he arrived at a page that made his heart stop.

It was a finely executed drawing of himself. The artist - Crowley, Aziraphale was sure - had portrayed him standing upright, sword in hand. His wings were out on either side of his shoulders and imbued with a supernatural glow. In his face were determination and fierceness.

If Aziraphale had any doubts about Crowley's feelings for him, a look at the drawing would have sufficed to burn them all to ashes. Aziraphale swallowed and turned the page. He leafed backwards and forwards, actually paying attention to the words this time.

Some of it were notes on the other demons and their inability to cope with Crowley's ideas, but much were notes on humans and how they'd reacted to Crowley's temptations and other machinations.

And some of it was poetry with no doubts as to who the "fair angel" object of Crowley's attraction was.

Aziraphale closed the journal with a sigh. He had always been fascinated by human creativity - their ability to create something out of nothing, which was no doubt due to the Divine spark within them. But he had never tried it for himself. Technically, he could both write and draw - he'd had a lot of time on his hands in the 19th century - but he'd never written anything other than letters, or drawn anything other than the still lives arranged in front of him by the drawing master.

Maybe it was time to surprise Crowley as he'd surprised Aziraphale with this. 

He Miracled pen and ink next to the journal, dipped the pen in the ink, and started writing on one of the scraps of paper that seemed always to be about in the back room.

The next time he went to see Crowley at his flat, he brought the journal with him. 

"Aziraphale! I wondered where I'd left that," Crowley said after he'd embraced Aziraphale by way of greeting.

"I took the liberty of making a small addition of my own," Aziraphale said. He bit his lower lip as he handed it over, then stepped across the threshold past Crowley.

"I see," Crowley said with a quirk of his lips. They made their way to the table, where a delicious mango cheesecake was waiting. At some point, Crowley had figured that the dessert was always the part of the meal that Aziraphale enjoyed most, so he'd decided to not bother with the rest of it.

They sat down. Aziraphale cut into his piece of cake and Crowley sat down with the journal and flicked to the last couple of pages. 

He studied them for a long while. The cake had nearly disappeared when he raised his eyes and looked directly at Aziraphale.

"Angel," he said. His voice was raspy.

"Yes, dear." Aziraphale tried to sound matter of fact, but the softness in Crowley's face made his heart leap into his mouth.

Crowley leaned forward a bit and Aziraphale mirrored the movement. Their forearms bumped into each other and then their mouths met across the table. The sweetness of the cake blended with the heat of demonic fire in a delicious tingle that Aziraphale wanted to savour.

Crowley's hand gently touched Aziraphale's cheek before Crowley broke the kiss and looked at him.

"Tempt you to sit in my lap?" He cocked his head as he said it and Aziraphale could barely manage a yes before they'd rearranged themselves so he was on top of Crowley, straddling him. His fingers got lost in red curls, his mouth pressed against soft skin like he'd wanted to for centuries.

The journal still lay open on the table, showing a new drawing next to the one of Aziraphale - Crowley, with his wings out and head tilted to the side and one hand on his hip, looking over the rim of his sunglasses. His other hand and wing stretched out protectively towards Aziraphale on the other page and Aziraphale's fingers were just about touching his.

There might have been a touch of Miracling about this last detail, but that notwithstanding, Aziraphale considered himself a fair artist. As he gently dragged his teeth down the side of Crowley's neck and heard Crowley respond with moans of pleasure, he thought that at the very least, the artwork had served its purpose. And that, as far as he was concerned, was all that mattered.


End file.
